


use me like an oar, and get yourself to shore

by wolver



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Because Gabe's a slut, Colorado Avalanche, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, and life after the playoffs, more relationships will be added, so it's ridiculous (sorry not sorry), this was working titled monster fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolver/pseuds/wolver
Summary: Just a typical off season for the Avalanche players, really.This follows the conclusion of the playoffs and onward, exploring coping and feelings and all that shit that comes along with it. Gabe has lots of love to give (from his heart and his dick).
Relationships: Gabriel Landeskog/Nikita Zadorov, J. T. Compher/Tyson Jost, Samuel Girard/Erik Johnson, Tyson Barrie/Gabriel Landeskog, Tyson Barrie/Nathan MacKinnon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	1. sinking like a stone

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to clawth -- based off our epic head canon. couldn't do this without ya bby.
> 
> title + chapter one title from the strokes / at the door.

It's been three days since they lost to the Sharks, three days since their hockey season has officially ended, and three days of being lost as fuck. Gabe doesn't know what to do with himself. His phone buzzes.

_BEACH!!!!_ Josty says in the group chat to receive multiple thumbs up shortly after -- everyone else must be as bored as he is, no surprise there.

Mikko's going back to Finland for awhile, as well as a few others are heading home. A few more have other vacations planned, Calvert's going to Spain ( _Oh fucking La La,_ Gabe had said, and Calvy had retorted something in Spanish that probably means along the lines of _fuck off_ , and then in English, _I'll bring back wine_ , which fuck yes), EJ is taking his rookie to a baseball game in LA, which no, Sam's definitely not a rookie anymore, and Colesy going to spend time with his family. 

That leaves the usual suspects. Tyson and Nate. Gabe hasn't heard anything from the newer guy, the super fucking new guy really, Cale, who is so baby-faced it hurts sometimes, he hasn't heard from Z, Grubi, Willy, and a few others, but if they need him they'll let him know.

_Where are you going, Cappy?_ EJ asks.

_Sweden soon, probably_ , he lies, though it's not an outright lie because he does have plans to go to Sweden at some point. When, now that's up on the table. And he's sure that EJ can read more into it, but he thankfully doesn't call him out on it. Though Gabe suspects he'll see him soon enough -- it's bit of a surprise that he hasn't seen him yet, honestly, but maybe his rookie is keeping him thoroughly distracted. _He's so tiny and French and clueless looking, I want to keep him._ Gabe had narrowed his eyes at EJ, trying to figure out if this is EJ having a crush or just being fucking weird like he usually is -- the jury is still out on that one, but Gabe is leaning more and more towards crush and holy shit is that weird. He's only seen EJ like a handful of people in the entire time that he's known him. Like, a baseball game? Is that a date? Are they going to share nachos and giggle about baseballs? Dangerous path his mind is going down; he doesn't want to think about EJ having feelings on people because that's weird.

_Send me a postcard, buddy. I put them in a special place that I made just for your presents._  
_The garbage._

_Hilarious_ , Gabe types with a small smile, shaking his head.

_BOOM_. Jost.  
_be careful ej our captain is very delicate right now_  
_Jost, shut the fuck up._ Still Jost's account, but the text has a very suspicious Compher tone to it.  
_ahhh love u landy <3_

_Enjoy the beach, guys. _Gabe sends and then exits the app.__

__Zoey sits in front of him, staring at him and waiting patiently. When his attention shifts to acknowledge her, her tail starts to wag excitedly. He scratches her ears and sighs softly, fondly, because she's such a good girl. He doesn't know what he'd do without her._ _

__"Hi, girlie. It's going to be a long summer. You ready for it?" She cocks her head at him, listening intently, and barks when he stands up. "Yeah. Let's go outside, yeah?"_ _

__There's a detachment that Gabe feels, like his body is in one plane but the rest of him: his thoughts, his feelings, all of that is somewhere else completely separate. He's walking around like a zombie, mindless and going through the routine. Getting up, brushing his teeth, get dressed, make breakfast, work out, lunch, do chores, play with his dog, dinner, read, go to sleep. It's all the same activities, but there's a cloud over them that won't quite go away. He's getting no enjoyment from anything, except this girlie right here._ _

__It happens, Gabe knows it happens, but it never feels good when it's your fault that the team loses. It's a team effort, everyone pitched in and there's a million ways that the game could have gone and negate Gabe's stupid mistake, but the fact of the matter is: it came down to Gabe's inability to get off the ice quickly that lead to their loss. No one can convince him otherwise, but he knows, he _knows_ that they would have cut the lead in half and a new sense of momentum would have coursed through them. The adrenaline would have spiked and they had a chance to tie the game, give themselves a chance. But Gabe took that chance away. That mistake was the defining moment of the game. _ _

__And maybe this is just him feeling sorry for himself, maybe the mistake wasn't the end of the world, but it feels like it was. Especially when they were so fucking close that he could taste it. And now that he's gotten a taste of it he just wants more more more more._ _

__Gabe just doesn't know what to do with himself. He supposes he could go somewhere and spend some time on a hot beach. He could always go home and see his parents and sister and reacquaint himself with his hometown. The thought of Sweden brings a longing to him -- he wants to go home, wants that familiarity of hearth and home, that's almost foreign to him now, after being gone for so long. Yet Gabe doesn't ultimately make any plans. He tells his family he'll see them this summer, but he never says when. Nor is Gabe running to book a flight. Something stops him, a hesitation. Like he should hang around in case anyone needs him so he can be useful for once._ _

__Probably not -- he probably just wants to continue poking the bruise._ _

__

__

__Gabe can't be fucked to put on pants._ _

__His house, his rules, and if someone wants to show up out of the blue without warning, well, they deserve the sight of his pale legs. At least he's wearing a shirt this time, though a part of him is tempted to take it off just to be a bitch. And while maybe Gabe is feeling bitchy he isn't actually a _bitch_ , so the shirt stays. He expects it to be either Tyson or EJ, and they've seen him naked plenty of times so there's no shock factor anyway._ _

__It's been a total of five days since the loss and it's not who Gabe expects at all. The last person. Z is standing at his door, carrying an unmarked paper bag where grease is already visibly starting to pool at the bottom. Gabe's surprised to see him; he had assumed that Z had fucked off somewhere with an insane hotel price and an ocean view, or at least gone back home to Russia. Surely there's someone in his life that he wanted to be around that isn't boring ol' Gabe, and something else he wanted to do that isn't sharing, what Gabe expects, is greasy burgers._ _

__Except Z has always been a loose cannon, and not in the bad sense of the phrase, just. Unexpected. So it really doesn't surprise Gabe that he's here, because this is completely on point for him, but Gabe still doesn't understand the why. And this is Z so he might never get that question answered._ _

__Gabe's stomach rumbles at the sight of food and he doesn't remember the last time he's spoiled himself. His diet has been strict for months now in preparation of the playoffs, and even once they concluded he still hasn't deviated away. It's bound to happen, he knows this, but his ability to give a damn about things isn't where it should be._ _

__"What the fuck," Gabe says, the opposite of being welcoming, and unable to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth._ _

__He's trying; this is why he's still here he reminds himself, but Gabe still feels rough around the edges, doesn't know when that'll actually go away. At this point it doesn't feel like it ever will, like he's going to be caught in this funk forever and never be right with himself again. It's easy to talk and pretend when he's hiding behind the screen, faking it well enough that the ones who don't know him as well will be fooled. But there's a few who see right through that, and luckily they haven't been around to visit yet, and briefly, Gabe thinks maybe he can be out of here before that happens. _Sorry guys, gone to Sweden, see you next season_._ _

__"Burgers," he says and the word sounds ridiculous with his accent, like _borgers_._ _

__"No," Gabe says and tries to shut the door in Z's face. This isn't him, this isn't him, but Gabe is helpless to stop himself from being a bitch. Maybe he actually is a damn bitch, underneath all the layers of captain and smiles and Swedish Golden Stallion God exterior._ _

__A hand reaches out, lightning fast to keep the door from closing. Gabe is impressed with his reflexes, enough that he lets go out of the door._ _

__"Da," Z says gently, like he's talking to a spooked horse. Maybe another reason why EJ named that damn horse after him-- "Eat and TV."_ _

__Zoey comes out from behind him to greet Z, tail waggling and snuffling at his shoes, his pants, and then trying to inspect the bag that he's holding just out of her reach. Z murmurs something in Russian and gives her head a scratch, smiling something small and private. When he looks back at Gabe it makes Gabe pause: this is the softest look he's ever seen on Z's face. Then, a blink and it's gone._ _

__So Gabe shrugs and leads Z through the house and to the den where the television is. Maybe the distraction will help him. Though to be completely honest here he's not desperate enough to stop feeling this way, not quite yet, but he'll accept help -- stubbornly accept help, at least, because nothing good is ever easy, or some shit. _So full of shit_ , he hears EJ in the back of his head, mocking him, because _you just want a pity party, Gabriel, and everyone's invited_. He might be onto something there, but Gabe isn't going to admit that._ _

__Z sits next to him on the couch and passes him a burger, that Gabe just merely holds in his hand. He notes Zoey is in her bed, head resting on her paws and watching them. Such a good girl._ _

__"Eat," Z prompts him, like Gabe needs to be told what to do. And maybe he does._ _

__It feels weird to have company while Gabe's on the decline and feeling this way, but maybe it's not as bad as he'd initially feared it would be. Z isn't poking or prodding any of his open wounds, he's just letting him be. Not asking him every five minutes if he's okay because _clearly he isn't_ \-- and that's the way that he expects EJ to be: with his furrowed brow and giving Gabe looks every few minutes like he's afraid he's not suitably grounded and he'll float right away into the nothingness of space. Now Tyson's a different story; Gabe doesn't really know how he'd act. Tyson, who's wormed his way into Gabe's life, as subtle as a freaking firework, but making this Tyson-shaped hole that's empty when he's not around. No, he suspects something similar to EJ, but maybe not. Maybe he'd be trying to distract Gabe the way Z is doing._ _

__No one else would dare to be here. At least, or so he had thought. Z's always a freaking wild card._ _

__They don't talk, but that's more than okay. The only sound in the room is the television and the crinkle of their burger wrappers as they eat. At one point Z disappears from the room and when he sits back down it's closer to Gabe now, enough their thighs are lightly touching. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch behind Gabe and Gabe gets a whiff of something that feels distinctly Z, something clean and woodsy, a dose of spice and sweet. Swallowing hard, Gabe has to look away. Suddenly he wants a lot more than he figures he can have._ _

__"Okay?" Z asks him._ _

__"Fine," Gabe replies, quiet._ _

__"Drink?" It wouldn't be Z if he didn't try to bring alcohol into the equation. And Gabe is tempted, he hadn't thought about using alcohol as a crutch to numb his emotions, but he supposes maybe that's a good thing. That's a road he doesn't want to go down, not when he's unsure if he can pull himself back out._ _

__"No thanks," he finally replies._ _

__He tries to hold himself still, not doing anything that causes them to touch anymore than they currently are. It's difficult, because all Gabe wants to do is lean against him, into his strength and not have to think for awhile. But Z doesn't seem to be harboring any of the same concerns because he doesn't keep himself still and their thighs brush together more than Gabe would really like._ _

__Gabe feels very under dressed right now._ _

__"Why are you here?" A question to distract himself and focus on something else._ _

__"Here for Landy," Z replies with a shrug._ _

__"Even though I'm not the best company?"_ _

__"Still here, da. Not afraid Landy teeth." Gabe bares his teeth at him and Z bares his return. It's their uncomplicated back-and-forth that's familiar and eases a bit of the tension inside Gabe. He needs that uncomplicated right now -- he needs a lot right now, if he's going to be completely honest. Fuck, he doesn't want to _think_. Gabe runs a hand back through his messy hair a few times, trying to tame it into something more manageable._ _

__"I know I'm being difficult," he manages._ _

__"Upset. Different. Less difficult person I know." Z shrugs, looking unconcerned even when Gabe snorts in response._ _

__That seems very unlikely. Gabe knows he isn't a drama queen, say: like Tyson, but he's definitely not the most easy going at times, either. Especially when hockey's put in the mix and he can get downright fucking feral. So he knows Z is blowing smoke right now, but Gabe appreciates it nonetheless._ _

__"If you say so."_ _

__An eye roll and Z says, "Stop stubborn." As though it's that simple, but maybe to Z it is. And maybe that's why he's here and being supportive to his wreck of a captain instead of being a wreck himself. When in reality it should be the captain making sure all his boys are okay, not wallowing in his fucking misery like a teenager with boy problems--_ _

__Their eyes meet and Gabe can't look away, finds himself getting lost in those dark eyes and feels himself spinning out of control, destined for a head-on collision with whatever electricity is in the air between them. Z's eyes narrow, slightly, and Gabe's reminded how fucking intelligent Z really is, when he wants to be. He reads people well, anticipates them, and--_ _

__Fuck. Gabe feels very exposed, suddenly, and he thinks he should excuse himself. He should leave the room. Go before Z has to name this thing between them, accept or reject it -- _him_ \-- _ _

__Z plants a messy kiss on Gabe's cheek. His offering, _now your turn_. And Gabe-- this is a game he knows how to play, and well._ _

__"So messy." Gabe bursts out, surprised, pleased. "It's fucking dripping, I can feel it."_ _

__"You like messy," Z says but he does reach up to wipe at the spit. "Better?"_ _

__"Yes, now give me a proper one."_ _

__So Z grabs his chin and kisses him fully on the mouth. Gabe only gets to kiss him back for a few beats before the kiss breaks._ _

__"Like that?" Z is a shit and he knows he's a shit._ _

__"I meant my cheek, but that was... better," he says, sounding distant and absolutely distracted. Blood is pooling south, quickly. He's suddenly desperate for attention, to feel anything except this self-inflicted misery, that he feels he might vibrate right out of his skin. He clenches his fists on his thighs to keep himself from reaching out to Z and his eyes remain closed._ _

__There's another kiss to his cheek, with way less spit, and Gabe cracks open his eyes, says faintly, "Thanks."_ _

__There's a look on Z's face that Gabe could only describe as pure need, raw and primal and seconds from devouring Gabe whole. But there's a restraint there, paper thin and unraveling. He's searching Gabe's face for something and the air between them feels fragile, so Gabe holds his breath, waiting, hoping. Then Z's eyes drop to Gabe's lap and the boxers that are tenting in excitement. A shiver runs down Gabe's spine and he reaches down to adjust himself._ _

__And then, whiplash fast, Z is kissing him again, cupping his cheeks and kissing him hard and deep enough that Gabe feels it in his goddamn bones. His cock is fully hard at this point, aching, and he needs more. So Gabe moves to straddle Z's lap and large hands grab his hips, grab his ass, squeezing and kneading supple skin. But there's still too much clothing and Gabe needs, he wants--_ _

__"Fuck me, Z," he says against his mouth, when he's trying to catch his breath. Fuck the lead up, fuck the foreplay; Gabe wants fucked and he wants it now._ _

__Gabe finds himself on his back, laid out across the couch cushions. This couch isn't exactly big enough for the both of them to fuck on, but neither of them seem to give a flying fuck. They work on getting each other naked, and a mixture of their efforts causes Z to get his arms tangled up in his shirt. Gabe whines at him, unhelpful, and impatiently tugging at the fabric._ _

__"Stop," Z says with a breathy laugh and kisses him again. Gabe bites at his mouth in retaliation._ _

__Z finally gets his clothes off and Gabe's touching his arms, his chest, his stomach. One of his hands slides down to cup Z's balls, warm and heavy in his hand. He squeezes, enjoying the moan that it inspires. Then Gabe circles his fingers around Z's half-hard cock and squeezes and strokes and coaxes him to a full hardness. God, he's impressive and Gabe wants Z inside him yesterday, but Z's leaning over and fishing around in his shorts, not paying him any mind._ _

__"Hurry the fuck up," Gabe whines because he's taking too long._ _

__"Distract," Z mumbles and bucks his hips into Gabe's hand to make his point._ _

__Gabe opens his mouth to complain further, but then he's startled into a laugh when Z finally finds what he's looking for. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a fucking roll of condoms. Gabe laughs, feeling reckless and unhinged. "Are you fucking serious? Did you actually plan this?"_ _

__Z glares at him, but there's no heat behind it. "Prepared," he says with a huff. Gabe understands it's hard to pretend to be mad when there's a hand on your cock._ _

__"Landy looks stressed, he needs a good fucking, is that right?"_ _

__Z smirks at that and says, "Not wrong," before kissing him again, swallowing anymore comments._ _

__And then he feels the first press of lubed fingers against his entrance and Gabe's focus is all shot to hell now. It's been awhile since Gabe's had sex, since he's bottomed, so he takes a moment to savor the slow burn as Z stretches him. But it's fleeting and not long until it's not enough for him. While he appreciates Z taking his time because yeah, his cock is freaking huge, Gabe cannot handle slow right now._ _

__So Gabe grits out, "Fuck me now, Z." It gets the reaction that he wants, a shudder and Z looks up from where he'd been watching the slide of fingers in Gabe's ass and gives Gabe this heated look and holy fuck._ _

__He pulls out his fingers and goes to grab a condom, but Gabe grabs his wrist first._ _

__"Are you clean?"_ _

__"Da."_ _

__"Me too. No condom, okay? I want to feel everything."_ _

__Z swears in Russian and slicks up his cock. An arm slides under Gabe's waist as he hitches Gabe's hips up more so he can line up. He's trembling with barely restrained control as he pushes into Gabe, trying to give him time to adjust. The slow burn becomes a painful stretch and Gabe hisses, sliding a leg around Z's waist._ _

__"Just fucking-- _move_ ," Gabe snaps out. "I'm not going to break."_ _

__He doesn't want to _think_ , fuck, he doesn't want to remember his goddamn name right now. Fuck thinking, that's for the goddamn pigeons._ _

__Z shifts the position enough to prop himself over Gabe with a hand, while the other hand grips Gabe's hip to keep him still. Then he inches out before slamming back in. Gabe fucking keens in surprise, scrambling to hold on for the ride. He grabs Z's biceps and just tries to hold on, because Z is fucking him into this couch without mercy._ _

__And it's so so good that Gabe can't be quiet if he tried. He's loud: moaning like a whore desperate for the big bucks, and nonsense words, begging for more, harder, please, Z. And holy fuck, Gabe can hear Z making these breathless grunts that add to the pool of heat building low in Gabe's stomach._ _

__Again Z shifts, so now one foot ends up on the floor to stabilize his position and both of his large hands hold Gabe's waist and his thrusts are deeper, hitting that spot inside him consistently now. It's sloppy and hard and Gabe is going to come very very soon._ _

__"Oh god, don't fucking stop," Gabe moans out, desperately chasing his release. "Close. Close. Close."_ _

__It doesn't take long to find it -- when Z's fingers circle his cock Gabe is fucking gone. He sobs through his release, his body tense and taut, trembling through it. Z continues to fuck him, turning Gabe into a whimpering mess, sensitive and overwhelmed but enjoying every second of it. Gabe has presence of mind enough to focus on Z, noting the way that his thrusts turn uneven, his curses in Russian more consistent._ _

__"Come inside me," Gabe says and keeps talking, his voice wrecked and speaking almost nonsense at this point, over and over to encourage him._ _

__Z groans and squeezes Gabe's hips, fingertips blooming into small points of pain. One thrust, two thrusts, and he buries his cock deep in Gabe as his hips stutter. He stays there until Gabe is gently kicking him back, away, his muscles are starting to cramp up from the position. Gabe feels the warm trickle of come and he can't help the small groan -- his cock attempts to twitch in interest, a valiant effort there buddy, but not gonna happen._ _

__His eyes flutter open, briefly, to taken in the sight of Z slumped back at the other end of the couch. A flush runs from his face and down his chest, his chest still heaving for air. And his softening cock is flushed even darker and Gabe has to close his eyes again because it's way too soon to jump him again._ _

__Gabe dozes for awhile until he shifts and accidentally kicks something solid. There's a soft grunt and a hand circles his ankle to keep him still._ _

__"Settle," a deep voice murmurs. It takes Gabe a few seconds to place the voice and then everything rushes back to him. He stretches, careful to avoid kicking Z again, and makes a soft pleased noise._ _

__"Gonna have to flip this cushion," Gabe says, after a moment, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He props himself up on his elbows and looks down the couch at Z who's still lounging against that corner, naked and probably watching television._ _

__Z snorts, amused, but then, "Want another burger?"_ _

__Gabe laughs softly. "Are you still actually hungry?"_ _

__Z shrugs but nods._ _

__"Can I make you something?"_ _

__So that's how Gabe ends up in his kitchen cooking them a steak dinner in his boxers._ _

__After looking in both the fridge and liquor cabinet Gabe has decided that everyone needs to stop stealing his alcohol. Especially his beer, because he had the perfect craft beer to pair with the steak and now it's gone. Not that he'll ever really tell anyone to stop, but fucking vultures, the lot of them._ _

__Gabe frowns at him and says, "So, I only have wine and, uh, apparently tequila. Or water."_ _

__"Wine fine. Fancy dinner, cap."_ _

__His face pinches, briefly. It _is_ a fancy dinner, one that Gabe had in mind for another time. With another person. Another frown crosses his face and Gabe isn't exactly prone to these sentimental fits, but alas. Here we are. Feeling sorry for yourself again. He knows he can always buy more steak. And he knows he'll see Tyson again soon enough._ _

__"I had intended the steak for a better outcome," he says as he pours them each a glass._ _

__But the act of cooking had been a good distraction for him, a way to keep his mind from wandering too far from the task at hand. And he'd pulled out all the stops for Z: steak, baked potato, asparagus, and a small salad with a vinaigrette._ _

__Z hums and says, "Good housewifey."_ _

__In another universe? Yeah, maybe. For good measure Gabe still gently smacks the back of Z's head. He takes a seat gingerly next to him and they eat in a companionable silence._ _

__

__Full and sated, in multiple ways, they move back to the couch. Z smirks at the come stain on the cushion; Gabe sighs, light-hearted, but he can't be fucked to clean it right now (or he can be fucked and still not want to). So it's going to have to stay until he decides that he wants to tackle laundry. Plus, it gives him the excuse to sit closer to Z without appearing clingy, which he's not, it's just nice to be close to someone right now._ _

__Gabe passes him a video game controller and it's game on. After three rounds of Super Smash Bros it's obvious that they both fail miserably at this game. To be fair, this is more of Tyson's game anyway. Speaking of--_ _

__Gabe finally voices his thoughts, "I had thought Tys would be here by now."_ _

__Z furrows his brow. "He no?"_ _

__"No, I haven't seen him since the exit interview."_ _

__Then Z gets this look on his face, one that Gabe and the rest of his teammates are very familiar with: the wheels are turning in his head and he's hatching up a plan. One that may or may not be in Gabe's favor, the jury is still out on that one._ _

__"What are you--"_ _

__Z kisses him to shut him up, biting at his mouth to thoroughly distract him._ _


	2. Chapter 2

It's a cold day in hell when Nate doesn't answer his phone for Tyson, a very cold day, and it doesn't count when Nate's busy and Tyson knows he's busy but still tries to call him anyway -- half the time Nate picks up anyway because he's great like that -- but this time he isn't busy. Tyson _knows_ this. All he's busy with is locking himself away in his house and sulking because their season ended in an extraordinarily sucky fashion. The season ending at all fucking sucks, but there's a lot of _it's my fault_ being thrown around by people, and maybe Gabe hasn't said it aloud but he feels it too, Tyson knows, but he digresses. So basically it's bullshit that Nate isn't answering his calls. 

Tyson rubs his face, unsure where to even start. Nate? Gabe? Himself? There's a lot of picking up the pieces, but he hasn't found the trick to cloning himself so someone is going to have to wait, and it's probably going to be himself. As much as Tyson just wants to curl up with Gabe and hide under the blankets _forever_ , Nate feels like the priority so he grabs his car keys.

Except Nate isn't even home when Tyson gets there. That's a big red flag, though Tyson has a suspicion where the guy is, and god help him if he's right. Tyson grabs his phone and texts him, 

_NATE!  
buddy.  
dogg.  
nate doggy dogg.  
where the hell are you?  
i'm at your place and you're not. what gives?  
COME BACK. i'm lonelyyyyy._

The longer there's radio silence the more Tyson gets restless. He's just sitting here and watching bad television. What's the point when there's no one to make fun of it with him? So he ends up in the kitchen with a plan because there's a good chance that Nate isn't feeding himself properly. A bran muffin and a protein bar, or shake, aren't going to cut it, what the fuck.

It's maybe an hour later when Nate comes back. Tyson goes to meet him, pausing to give him a once-over before giving him an unimpressed look. God fucking help him: Nate was playing golf. With a bad shoulder. Tyson wants to shake some sense into him.

"I got your messages," Nate says in an even flat tone that Tyson absolutely hates because he knows the guy's in a bad place. It's a tone void of all Nate personality and inflection and warmth and fuck, Tyson has a lot of pieces to pick up -- and no back up. He's pretty sure he's in over his head, but this is Nate and Tyson isn't going to do him wrong, ever.

"Did you leave your game?"

"No, I finished it. Why?"

Tyson rolls his eyes at him. Typical. He ignores Nate narrowing his eyes at him and says, "You shouldn't even be playing golf, bud."

But Nate conveniently doesn't hear that comment and takes his time untying his shoes. At least he's going to hang around for a few minutes before jetting off again to play more stupid golf.

"What did you make?" Nate asks him.

That's another topic Tyson has assumed the guy would skirt around. Though the house smells delicious, thank you very much, and how could you not ask about that? Tyson tries not to vibrate out of his skin from pleasure that Nate made the effort to ask.

"Spaghetti Squash and yes, I put bacon in it. Fight me."

Nate merely raises an eyebrow at him, but there's a trace of amusement in his gaze and Tyson chalks it down as a win. He'll take what he can get.

So Tyson feeds him -- he fixes Nate a plate and doesn't give him any choice, strong-arming him into accepting whether he wants it or not. The last thing that anyone needs is Nate withering away and drifting off into the next light breeze. Never mind that Tyson loses his best Dogg, but no one on the team would take that well and he'd get the blame and it'd become messy and Tyson really isn't into messy right now. So Nate has to eat or else. Maybe he doesn't eat a lot, but it's something and Tyson will chalk it down as win number two. 

"Do you want to go golfing with me?"

"What?" Tyson makes a face. "Bud, no. I don't want to do anything except sit here and veg out and sulk with some video games." But Nate keeps patiently watching him, waiting. Tyson feels himself cracking under the pressure. "What? Now?"

"Yes."

"You were just out there!"

"I wasn't done."

Tyson groans. "Fine! Fuck, fine."

And that's how Tyson ends up on the green with Nate, wearing the ridiculous golfing attire and hating every second of it. Most seconds of it. He likes the Nate company part, but he dislikes the golf and everything else part. He's pretty sure that he's starting to burn with this much sun. But then Nate will gently rub sunscreen on his face and his gaze is intent and focused _on Tyson_ and that's-- okay. Yeah, he won't complain too much. Because Nate had asked so he wants Tyson there with him, while he obsessively plays golf -- has one obsession traded for another. So maybe Tyson isn't the best golfer, isn't really that into the game other than admiring everyone's ass in the shorts, well, he can do it for the Dogg.

\---

They're sitting in their golf cart because Nate finally caved under the constant whining, for probably about a half-hour at that point because Tyson is hot and cranky and hungry and _if I collapse out here everyone is going to blame you_. So yeah, Nate gave him a sheepish look and orders them a lunch of hot dogs with everything on them.

"Oh my god, you don't even eat hot dogs."

"I want a hot dog," Nate replies defensively and okay, they're having hot dogs.

"Get me a beer."

"No, you need water."

Tyson groans and rolls his head back, attempting to crack his neck, before letting his head come to a rest on Nate's shoulder. "Fuck. How's your shoulder? Is my head too heavy?" Though he's not in any rush to lift it, and probably won't lift it unless it hurts Nate.

"It's fine. How are your bruises?" 

Somehow Nate knows exactly where to poke, despite the bruise being high on his thigh and hidden by his shorts, and there's a sharp pain that makes Tyson jump. He whines and smacks Nate's hand away. How the hell does he even _know_ there's a bruise? Fuck.

"Heathen," Tyson says with no heat.

Nate gives him a small smile, amused, and says, "Yeah, I'm the heathen." 

Their food comes and while Nate tips the server, Tyson just remains slumped against Nate's side and looking grumpy because that's about all that he has the energy to do right now. The girl shoots Tyson a bemused look before she hurries off. Maybe she recognized them, maybe she didn't. Or maybe Tyson has a _if looks could kill_ expression on his face. Could be a little of all three. Probably.

"Life of the party, aren't you?"

"Bite me," Tyson mutters and snaps his teeth.

Nate does not bite him unfortunately, but he does pass him over four hot dogs and holy fuck, they look amazing. He knows Tyson, he really really knows him, because it's not often that Tyson's going to shovel four hot dogs in his mouth and be proud of himself for it, but now? Oh fuck yes. And Tyson's pleased to see that Nate is also allowing himself a break from his strict diet.

Tyson will not confirm or deny that he inhaled the hot dogs (though he did, he totally did).

"Look, heathen, can we do something else for awhile?"

Nate hesitates and Tyson's expecting that he's going to have to bring out the big guns: his pout, the puppy dog eyes, the whole nine yards -- then he asks, "Can we come back tomorrow?"

_No_ , Tyson wants to say, to scream it, but doesn't. Instead he crosses his fingers behind his back.

"Sure, okay."

Once they get back to Nate's and changed and cleaned up Tyson feels a lot more human again. His face is warm and tight, he definitely has gotten some sun, but it doesn't look bad. He doesn't look ridiculous, not yet. Tyson joins Nate on the couch, sitting up against his side.

"So I was thinking about heading down to the pubs? Get drunk off awesome craft beers, eh?"

"I don't want to pub crawl," Nate says with a small scowl.

"We could go buy some beers then? Maybe that coffee porter that you like so much?"

Nate snorts. "No, that's you, Tys. But yeah, alright."

So they buy some beers and spend the rest of the evening on the couch, drinking and not giving a fuck about anything. Though Tyson's thumb hovers over Gabe's number in his phone and he wants to, fuck does he miss him, but Tyson isn't sure if he has it in him right now. It's hard enough pulling Nate back together, but Gabe too? Fuck. He throws his phone to the side. 

But Nate's giving him this thoughtful look like he knows exactly what's going on through Tyson's mind. He's had at least three beers, probably four, and he shouldn't be this aware anymore. Sometimes Tyson really hates how damn well Nate knows him.

"Have you seen Gabe yet?"

Tyson considers lying. "No."

"You need to. Stop stalling with me on the golf course."

"I am not--" Tyson squawks and shoves at Nate, until the guy is wrestling him back and gets Tyson in a headlock. Tyson flails and pushes, but doesn't get anywhere. So he slumps and presses his forehead against Nate's side, whining softly. The grip loosens, but Tyson doesn't move away.

"He'll wait for you," Nate says gently. 

It's vague, but Tyson knows exactly what he means. Always right to the point, straight to the place that aches. He closes his eyes, feeling them water. It's because he's drunk, of course. No other reason. And it's because he's drunk that he admits,

"I'm scared."

"Me too, Brutes, but you always have me. I'm always a phone call away."

Tyson wipes his tears against the fabric of Nate's shirt, hiding the evidence that he's sure Nate already knows about. He shifts so they're more comfortable and much more tangled together.

Tyson wakes the next morning with a soft groan. His head hurts and the room is way too bright for his tastes. But when he cracks open his eyes he realizes they're still in the living room -- they'd fallen asleep on the couch together, and Tyson's now half-sprawled across Nate and it's comfortable, for sure, but he suspects it's not as comfortable for Nate. He looks up to see that Nate's eyes are open, bleary but awake, freshly awake and he still has this soft sleep-rumpled look about him -- it's a good look on him. Tyson rubs his cheek against Nate's shoulder, letting the moment linger for awhile.

"My back hurts," Nate eventually complains and breaks the quiet. "I'm too old to sleep on the couch."

"Nobody made you do anything, Nathan."

"Ugh." Which Tyson suspects is code for _but you're lying on me and I'm too polite right now to point that out_. Tyson appreciates the sacrifices that Nate makes for him, he really does. 

So Tyson offers, "Brunch?"

Nate hums out an agreement and adds, his voice firm, "No liquid courage." It's like he knows Tyson, knows that Tyson is feeling less than brave about confronting his captain. 

Tyson merely flips him off, but he does climb off Nate because he's a gracious and kind soul, obviously.

\--

In the end, Tyson shows up before Z can carry out whatever scheme he's concocted. There's the familiar commotion at the front door of someone letting themselves inside. Only a few people have a key so Gabe's pretty sure he knows who it is without checking. Gabe just shares a look with Z, who hasn't left since he's wormed his way in this morning. Not that Gabe is in any hurry to make him leave, it's not like he's busy.

"Bud, it's time to get you out of the house for awhile." Though Gabe can't see him, he can still hear Tyson from the front foyer. His voice carries easily. "You need to stop being a hermit for fuck's-- oh." 

Tyson stands in the doorway to the living room and stares. Gabe is suddenly very glad that he finally decided to put on pants, and a shirt, and has rejoined the land of the reasonably dressed and functioning again. He's also glad, in a lesser amount, that Z is dressed too.

"I not get him out too," Z says to Tyson. 

The look on Tyson's face grows even more incredulous. He looks back and forth between like Gabe having company is the strangest thing in the world, which it is not, thank you very much. Gabe has plenty of company, like Tyson and EJ and sometimes Nate and the rest of the team--

"What the fuck," Tyson says.

Gabe rolls his eyes. "I do not have a problem."

"New job. Housewife," Z says.

"What," Tyson says flatly. 

"I do not have a problem!" Gabe insists, more firmly this time.

Z huffs at him, like Gabe _is_ a problem. But Gabe's eyes settle on Tyson and watch him. He's not moving from his spot in the doorway and he's watching the two of them as though there's something to figure out. It's so unlike Tyson to remain distanced from Gabe like this. He finally notes the six pack that Tyson is carrying.

"Am I interrupting something?" Tyson finally asks.

"No, Tys. You're not interrupting anything. Come sit down."

"Okay…" Tyson draws out the word, skeptical. But he does walk over to the couch and shit--

"Just uh, careful," Gabe gestures at the stain and maybe he should have cleaned that after all, he thinks to himself, a bit hysterically. "I made a mess earlier." Z snorts beside him and Gabe very much ignores him or else there's a good chance he might fucking blush, what the fuck, and they'd be no way of salvaging this situation.

Tyson lifts an eyebrow at him but takes a seat further down the couch. He sits the six pack between them, hiding the stain from sight. "Anyway," he says, "I brought beer and thought we could maybe hang? I didn't realize Z was here or I would have brought a lot more beer." His eyes narrow, briefly. 

"It cool. Should go," Z says and Gabe wavers on that, for a moment. A part of him doesn't want the guy to leave, but the other part wants some alone time with Tyson because this is what he's been wanting, waiting for, just. Z had helped him, pulled him out whatever funk he'd been in. But childishly, he's afraid that if Z leaves he's not going to return, and now, suddenly, it's not okay just to see him when training camp starts up again.

"Okay," Gabe replies, feels Tyson relax slightly next to him. There's an urge to invite him over again, but Gabe leaves it at that, knowing that Z will come over with or without an invitation. 

Once Z is gone, Gabe takes over Z's old seat at the end of the couch and pats the spot next to him. A brief hesitation before Tyson sits next to him, no more than an inch of space between them. Tyson grabs two beers and passes Gabe one.

"Sorry if I interrupted something," Tyson says. 

Gabe rolls his eyes and nudges at his side. "You didn't. C'mon. You know you're always welcome here."

"Why was he here?"

"He thought I needed moral support."

Tyson furrows his eyebrows and takes another sip of his beer. "I tried to come sooner, but Nate was being obsessively self-destructive, you know how he is."

"Is he okay?" Gabe asks, staring down at his lap. He feels the guilt squeezing his insides.

"Yeah, he just--" Tyson gestures vaguely. "He's trying to play golf twenty-four seven. Some stupid obsessive focus switch because he doesn't want to cope properly. I only felt like I could leave now because it's dark outside, also, fuck him. He's probably busy organizing his socks because he's a literal freak of nature right now. And I just cannot deal with him any longer."

"I should have been there to help."

"What?" Tyson asks before blowing out a breath. "No, buddy. You don't have to worry about Nate being a freak too. You have enough on your own plate."

"But I'm--"

"And we're all big boys," Tyson cuts him off. "You don't have to be there for anyone. You gotta make sure you're okay first."

That feels-- not right to Gabe. He should be there for everyone. He wants to be that supportive shoulder everyone can lean on and cry on if they need to. That's not how it worked out though. His feet kept taking him a different direction each morning: to the couch, back to bed, anywhere but the front door. So instead of arguing further, Gabe just sighs softly.

"Are you okay, Tys?"

"I've played way too much golf in the past three days then I've ever wanted to in my life, but. I'm okay. Better." His gaze is soft and directed at Gabe.

Gabe gives him a soft smile. They gently clink their bottles together before Tyson sinks against his side, warm and comfortable. Time passes easily and they're both happy to not think for awhile. 

The cardboard container for the six pack ends up discarded on the coffee table and they're both on their third beer. Gabe doesn't know what time it is, doesn't want to move and check. Not with Tyson plastered against his side, head resting on his shoulder. It feels late and if Gabe lets himself he could probably fall asleep on the couch, but his neck and back would probably hate him for that. So he gently shakes Tyson.

"M'tired. We should sleep," he mumbles.

" _Your_ face," Tyson shoots back, sleepy and brimming with nonsense. Gabe laughs softly, fond; what an adorable lightweight idiot. He gently takes Tyson's bottle and places it on the coffee table with his own. 

"C'mon," Gabe coaxes and helps Tyson to his feet. It's only a small struggle, then Tyson straight up clings to him, like he can't bear to let go. It makes walking difficult, for sure, but they stumble in the direction of the bedroom without too much trouble.

"Nate and I slept on the couch last night…"

"Idiots. Let's get you in a real bed."

Tyson doesn't really leave his side all that much after that. He's seemed to have decided that Nate can take care of himself, at least until Nate proves otherwise and where that turns into another ambulance ride with those two and just. Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose. They just might be the death of him.

The next day Tyson drags Nate over so they can spend time together -- or re-socialize Nate as Tyson calls it. Also: babysitting.

Nate's already a pretty quiet guy, unless Tyson gets him going and they really feed off each other, so the quietness is familiar but this time it just feels wrong. It's not coming from the same place inside him, a place of happy contentment where hockey fills the void. Now a weird vibe is radiating from Nate and it's unsettling. 

They sit together in the den -- the couch cushion cover has been indeed thrown in the wash, in which Tyson had lifted his eyebrow but how the fuck else do you get the stain cleaned, Tyson? Good point. Gabe still feels a little squirrely, like he'd been keeping something from the guy. But does Tyson need to know about his sex life? Yes and no, he supposes. And he realizes that he's getting distracted by his thoughts because they all were sitting in here, but now Nate is suspiciously missing. 

He looks down at Tyson, who's lying there with his head on Gabe's lap.

"Where did the Dogg go?"

Tyson slaps a hand over his face and groans. "He was getting a drink. I bet he's organizing your cabinets."

"My cabinets are perfectly organized!" Gabe exclaims, affronted. Tyson gives him a look like _you wanna bet_ and they go to find Nate. Who is organizing Gabe's cabinets. Which, oh god, Gabe hopes he hadn't found the junk drawer because Nate does not need to see what's in there. A glance towards it and Gabe can't tell if he has or not.

"Told you," Tyson says smugly.

"Oh my god, what the fuck. Stop organizing my stuff."

There's a familiar glint in Nate's eye and this is quickly leading down a path he isn't ready to take right now, "I can organize the drawer in the bedroom too, if you want."

Gabe makes a choked but amused sound. He's going to get chirped _forever_. "Dogg. Nate. Come sit back down." 

He steers Nate from the kitchen, back towards the semi-safety of the den. They resume their seats and Nate looks like the cat got the cream, while Tyson looks confused as hell. 

"Did I miss something?"

"Okay!" Gabe claps his hands to get their attention, overeager to change the topic. "You," he points at Nate, "have way too much time on your hands. You need a hobby."

"I have a hobby," Nate shoots back. "It's golf--"

"--Not golf," Tyson injects over him with a groan. "I am so tired of golfing! I want to hang out with you and not wear those stupid shirts and shoes!"

Nate, at least, has the presence of mind to look sheepish. "...Okay, no more golf," he relents. The magic of Tyson always works wonders on Nate. "Then what?"

Tyson taps his fingers against his thighs, his face screwed up in thought. God only knows what he could going through his mind right now and Gabe's half-afraid what he's going to ultimately choose. He can only hope that he'll come back with all his limbs firmly attached and in the correct places. 

"We're going to the coast," he decides.

Gabe shares a look with Nate, both them absolutely suspicious because this sounds tame, this is safe, and are they waiting for the other shoe to drop? But they still say, "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

_How's Sweden?_ Fucking Erik -- Gabe knew EJ wasn't going to let this go for very long. The fact that he hadn't gotten back to him sooner is surprising, but maybe his rookie has been distracting just enough to get him off Gabe's back. Thank god for G -- he seems to keep EJ tame in ways that no one else can manage. T-Bear, maybe, with the pout of his, but even he can't work the miracles that G does.

_It's great. Big. Sunny. Awesome. Unlike your face._

The screen of his phone immediately lights up with a video chat request and Gabe sighs loudly, pressing accept. He gives EJ an unimpressed look, asking, "What, Erik?"

"We're on first name basis now? Fuck, I'm trembling." He's grinning at Gabe, like a cat that's gotten the cream. His teeth are in so he looks like a normal sane person, though Gabe knows better. Never be fooled by EJ pretending to be normal -- he's just _not_. "You're not in Sweden either, are you? That looks like your bedroom in Denver."

"The fact that you know what my bedroom--" Gabe isn't going to finish that sentence. Instead he shows him the open suitcase on the bed, half-packed and actively being worked on.

EJ opens his mouth to respond, but G's face suddenly pops into the frame over EJ's shoulder. He's most definitely snooping into what EJ's doing. At least someone is keeping the elder defencemen in line, giving him his money's worth (Gabe didn't even realize he was worrying about that too, because he knows that EJ can take care of himself, but _fuck_ it's good to know that he isn't alone). When G sees that it's Gabe he gives him a wide smile.

"Hi, Landy!" Sam looks good; he looks well-rested and healthy and like he's gotten a good dose of sun. It's a good look for him.

"G, hey man, how's it going?"

"Great. Erik misses you!" Then he ducks away, laughing, and the video gets a bit fuzzy while they rustle in the background. 

"A first name basis, huh," Gabe chirps when EJ refocuses the camera. "Oh Erik, my big strong defenceman." He makes sure to make a hard K sound on the end of EJ's name, mocking. "You guys are looking cozy."

There's a middle finger from EJ, but he's not really paying that much attention to Gabe. He's looking off to the side and it's a good chance that he's looking at Sam. His whole demeanor softens when it comes to the guy -- it's something Gabe has never seen before from EJ. The guy has had crushes before, he's been on dates, and had many a fling, so on and so forth, but never has he been like this with someone. It's very weird to Gabe, but he knows Sam's a good guy and he doesn't have to worry about beating up someone that hurts his best friend.

"Where are you going?" EJ changes the conversation back to the original topic. It'd be a lie if Gabe said he wasn't relieved -- both because he doesn't know how to handle this whole feelings terrain with EJ and because he isn't going to ride Gabe's back too hard on his own issues. EJ doesn't mind pushing into other people's feelings, but closes up pretty quickly when his own are called into view. 

"T-Bear's dragging Nate and I to the beach."

"Thank god for T-Bear. Plans afterwards? You guys are welcome to Cali, you know."

"We could definitely swing by."

"Awesome. I need more annoying teammates in my life. Can't get enough." EJ blows him a kiss. "Oh, by the way, Landeskog," EJ adds and narrows his eyes at him, like he knows something that Gabe doesn't. "Don't fuck this up with him." 

Then the video cuts out. Fucking _Erik_.

\--

So they go to the beach. A bit cliche, but a little sun never hurt anyone -- and as Tyson had said _you asshats need sun and stop living in a cloud of doom and gloom_. 

It's a fair enough reason, even if that wasn't what Gabe was doing. Just because he stayed in the house more than he left it doesn't mean anything. His mental state isn't that bad -- it's fine (he ignores the small voice in the back of his head that just laughs at him). But trying to get through to Tyson when his mind is set on something, well, good fucking luck right.

The invitation extends to a group of Tyson's friends. Half of them are still playing hockey, fucking _Blues_ , but a few of the others showed up. Fucking Jamie Benn, ugh (with his plus-one Segs), Sid (surprise) with Geno (no surprise), and Morgan Rielly. Gabe wonders who else he'd invited that hadn't shown up; he himself had invited Z but there hadn't been a response to his text. _He left me unread_ , the bitch.

Someone turns on the Finals game -- it's only game one -- in the bar and Gabe isn't really in the mood to watch this. He looks around at everyone who's watching in various degrees of interest. Predictably Nate is sitting with Sid and having a conversation made for two. A few hand jabs and yeah, they're definitely talking about hockey. Geno is busy trading chirps between Tyson and the rest and this isn't going to end well, not with the amount of alcohol they're consuming.

Gabe stares at his drink, a glass of wine, his only glass of wine -- petty compared to the harder stuff of the company he's in -- and he decides that he's finished for the night. He doesn't want to watch hockey that isn't his hockey and he doesn't want to join the raucous drunks for a good night of chirping. That doesn't make a good night for him, not right now.

This isn't exactly what he'd envisioned when Tyson said _beach, you guys_. But then again, this is supposed to help his mental state apparently, and Tyson should know that hockey is a big no go subject. Do not touch, a million red flags waving in caution. Yet they're surrounded in hockey players and watching hockey games, for the fuck's sake.

How many hockey players does it take to screw in a light bulb?

He quietly excuses himself and walks out of the bar. He follows the path down to the beach, slipping out of his sandals before stepping onto the sand. Gabe's never been one to get claustrophobic in any situation, but the bar was starting to push his limits. Especially being surrounded by everything hockey, everything that felt like his greatest failures and the could-have-beens were too much to handle. 

The wine has him feeling melancholy, a feeling he's unaccustomed to. If he ever does slip there's usually someone around with a few perfectly placed chirps to fish him right back out. Anger and annoyance are easier ways to cope. His heart clenches -- he misses EJ, suddenly, like a shot through the chest. And he finds himself missing Z, too. 

Gabe fishes out his phone. He has a text from Tyson: _come back :((_

_I'm tired. You have fun though._

He thumbs through his contacts and hesitates over Z's name, hovering but not committing. This is a lot like having a school girl crush, he realizes. If he wants to talk to Z then he should call him. It's not that hard. They're friends. And friends do that: the calling each other part when they need to talk. Except they don't actually do that -- Gabe's talked to him a few times outside hockey, but it's never really been a thing, not like with Tyson, with EJ. Gabe makes a frustrated noise and pockets his phone. 

He just needs the pigtails to complete the school girl theme. Fuck.

In the end Gabe decides to head back to the hotel. It's after ten and it's a good time as any to grab some sleep. It'll probably get loud whenever the rest of the occupents return from the bar, but at least he's rooming with Nate and Nate knows when the fuck to keep it down. 

It's after midnight when he hears everyone return to the condo. Gabe's still awake -- the going to sleep early plan was a good one, but it backfired miserably. He'd also tried to read at one point, but the words didn't hold his focus so he kept rereading the same sentence at least five times. Now he's lying there, light still on, and he stares up at the textured ceiling. Nate soon faceplants on the other bed without a word and doesn't move. A few minutes after that Tyson joins Gabe in bed, slinging an arm across his stomach.

"Hi," he says softly, his eyes bright, cheeks flushed from drinking.

Gabe feels some of his mood unwinding and he smiles, soft. "Hello. How was your night?"

"Good until you left. Why did you leave?"

"I wasn't really feeling it."

"You just didn't want to talk about hockey," Nate says from the other bed, his voice muffled.

"Of course I didn't," Gabe replies, a bit defensive. He should have expected Nate to be on Tyson's side -- he supposes he should have expected Nate to still be awake, too, despite all outward appearances of being dead on the other bed. "I thought the point of the trip was to take a break from it."

"It's hard to put a bunch of hockey players together and not talk about hockey," Tyson replies.

"I didn't realize this was supposed to be a hockey vacation. I thought this was a you trying to get your buddies to feel better vacation, where you don't, you know, shove hockey down our faces." The words slip out before Gabe can get control of his feelings, and once they hang in the air he immediately wants to take them back. 

He feels Tyson tense before he sees the look on his face. The look is-- not good. It's his unhappy pissy face that makes Gabe's stomach knot up in a sour guilt, because he has such a massive _weakness_ for the guy, and by weakness he means a goddamn Grand Canyon sized weakness, and the last thing that he wants to do is hurt Tyson. Good job of that he's doing.

If Tyson isn't happy then it's wrong.

"Then I won't fucking invite you next time, okay? You can fucking sit at home and wallow in your stupid self-righteous pity because it's all your damn fault, eh? It's only your team, you're the only one that lost-- It's fine! Do whatever you want! I don't fucking care anymore!" Tyson's voice gets louder until he's practically shouting at Gabe.

And he's scrambling to get out of bed, all elbows and knees against Gabe's pressure points.

"What the fuck, Tyson, wait--" But he's gone. 

Nate's staring at him from the other bed, his face impassive as usual. "He's freaking out." He states.

"What?"

"About being traded. He's freaking out. That's why everyone is here. To distract him." Then Nate rolls away and pulls a pillow over his head, discussion closed.

Gabe sighs. This isn't something he doesn't know -- the trade topic has been an issue for Tyson in the past, his name being thrown in talks here and there, and they all had been a bit worried that the guy might not be here to finish the season. But now the season is over, they lost, and Gabe's been so distracted with that loss that he'd forgotten what the off season brings. Trades. Not that Gabe is convinced that Tyson will be traded, but.

There's always the but.

He whispers a few uncomplimentary Swedish cuss words at himself before crawling out of bed to go after Tyson. It's probably no use, he's probably barricaded himself in the room that he shares with Rielly and Gabe's going to have an audience for his groveling and begging for forgiveness, and the thought makes him itchy. On his way to the room his eyes catch sight of the sliding glass door to the balcony and he pauses. Maybe, just maybe.

Tyson's sitting on a chair, with his feet propped up against the railing. He doesn't say anything when Gabe opens the door so Gabe steps outside, closing it behind him. He sits down in the other chair, his gaze sweeping over Tyson before he looks out over the dark ocean. Silence settles over them, but Tyson doesn't run away from him again and that's a good sign.

"I'm sorry," Gabe says after a moment. 

Tyson waves his hand. "No, it's okay. It's all good. I know it wasn't very fair to you to drag you with me. I just--" He shrugs and doesn't finish his sentence.

"Tys--"

"It's okay," Tyson speaks up, talking over him like he knows best and it's these moments where Gabe wants to strangle him because he does not know best. He has no fucking clue. But Gabe remains patient, knowing that Tyson is merely compensating. "You don't have to stay. Or you can stay a few days and head back or do whatever you wanted to do this summer--"

" _Tyson_ , shut up," Gabe says firmly or else he's never going to give Gabe a chance. It does the trick because Tyson goes quiet, his eyes on Gabe, watching, waiting, maybe even preparing for rejection. Like it isn't completely absolutely fucking obvious that Gabe would do anything and everything for him and-- and maybe it isn't obvious. Not to Tyson. So Gabe rests his hand on Tyson's thigh and squeezes gently. "What I had been trying to say earlier is that you're the reason I came. Not them. You. I wanted time with you and not hockey."

It draws a small smile from Tyson. A hand rests on his and Gabe laces their fingers together, squeezing, like he can transmit all the feelings he has for Tyson through a simple gesture -- except he knows that what he feels for him is too deep, too all encompassing that a single gesture isn't going to cut it. It'll take years, lifetimes, to ever show Tyson how much he feels. 

Eventually Tyson shoots him an expectant look and at first Gabe doesn't understand what he wants. Then he realizes and he rolls his eyes, saying, "You can stop shutting up, wow."

"So considerate of you," Tyson says immediately, giving him a toothy smile. 

"I could rescind my--"

"Oh! Mister Dictionary, I'm impressed. C'mon, woo me with your words."

Gabe laughs at him, tugging at Tyson's hand and threatening to pull away from him. But Tyson yanks back, hard enough that Gabe almost topples out of his chair and onto Tyson.

"You take the romance out of a situation, Tys."

"Oh, I'll show you romantic," Tyson says with a smirk. "Come to bed?"

They find Gabe's bed, only bumping into a few corners on the way and they muffle their laughter well enough because Nate doesn't immediately wake up and throw a pillow at their heads. But when Tyson slides down Gabe's body with a purpose and takes his cock out of his boxers, palming and working it to full hardness, Gabe suddenly doesn't give a shit about Nate anymore. Then Gabe forgets promptly how to think when Tyson's mouth is around him, warm wet suction that draws pleasure from every inch of his body and Gabe isn't quiet, at all. His fingers weave through Tyson's hair and it's so good, so so good. 

It doesn't take long for him to come and Tyson swallows most, only choking a little, but even that's hot to Gabe. Fuck. 

It takes a few minutes for Gabe to come down from his high and he finds Tyson stretched out on the bed, head pillowed by Gabe's stomach. Gabe's eyes follow the line of Tyson's body, notes the bulge in his pants. He swallows, his mouth suddenly watering. Then something occurs to him and he glances to the bed next to them. Empty.

"When did he leave?" Gabe asks, confused, and maybe pouts when Tyson laughs at him.

"About the time you were speaking Swedish sweet nothings at me and trying to gag me."

"Oh." Gabe pauses; he doesn't quite remember that part. "Uh, sorry?" 

Tyson laughs at him again but slides up to kiss him, taking away the sting.

"S'all good. Been awhile since I've deepthroated anyone." He says it casually, but fuck, it does things to Gabe. His cock twitches in interest, too soon. Instead Gabe shoves Tyson back onto the bed and blows Tyson to the edge of his life, smug when he hears that Tyson isn't quiet either.

Gabe smooths a hand down Tyson's back, trying to find sleep but he never quite catches it, merely teetering but never tipping. It remains elusive and silently mocking him. Judging from Tyson's breathing he hasn't quite found it either, and Gabe's hand slides up to tangle his fingers in Tyson's short curls. 

"Are you worried?" He asks into the dark room.

Tyson groans. "Stop ruining my post orgasm glow, Gabriel."

"That was an hour ago. Stop deflecting."

Tyson angles his head to look up at Gabe -- he looks tired and rough, suddenly, and Gabe feels his heart ache for him. This is a situation he'd never put on his worst enemies (well, maybe super worst ones) and he hates that Tyson has to live with the what ifs everyday. If there's a way that Gabe could shoulder these thoughts and worries for him he would in a heartbeat, absolutely.

He huffs out a sigh. "Yes, I'm worried, but it's whatever. Okay? It's whatever. I'm not the only one that has to deal with it. It's part of the game. I just don't want to think about it."

"Except you are thinking about it."

"You brought it up!"

Gabe pauses. "Okay, yeah maybe." He lets out a slow sigh and leans down to press a kiss to Tyson's forehead. He murmurs, "I'm here. I'm always going to be here for you, Tys. No matter if you're in Denver or elsewhere. I'm always a phone call away."

"Sap," Tyson mumbles, but it's fond, and his body relaxes some of its tension.

\--

A few days later Z texts him, _still there_

Gabe replies, his heart in his throat, _Yeah. Change your mind?_

_da_

Gabe sends him the hotel details and feels a thrill of anticipation run up his spine.

And when Z shows up -- well, if Gabe declines going out with the guys to have five minutes alone with him so Gabe can drop to his knees and swallow down Z's cock like a champ you can't really fault him, can you?

This isn't going to go well. 

This is going to end in an absolutely horrible fashion and it's all going to be Tyson's fault. Because sometimes Tyson forgets there's a time and place to tell Nate certain things, especially things about certain people who are ten feet away and easily accessible if Nate feels the urge to, say, smooth things over in the name of Tyson Barrie, knight in fucking shining armor, protector of the damsel in distress. But Tyson does not need any of that right now, he's handling the situation just fine.

"Nate! No, Nate, wait. No--" Tyson scrambles up to try and stop Nate from leaving the room. His hand circles Nate's wrist and he tugs, trying to look all pathetic like _don't leave me here alone, I need you right now_ \-- Nate's gaze softens, but it's clear he's not going to be swayed.

"I need to talk to him. Real quick." 

Nate says it like a promise; his words are firm and gentle as if it's really only going to be a quick pleasant chat, but that does nothing to soothe the anxiety that the word talk has provoked inside Tyson. Talk is probably the biggest understatement ever. 

Tyson groans, his only audience is the empty room. He crawls back into the bed to hide and mourn the certain doom that's going to befall his captain and new lover.

Nate walks into the room that he shares with Gabe, like a man on a mission. A Dogg with a bone to pick. His eyes zero in on Gabe -- he's sitting on the bed with Z, they're both fully clothed and it's chaste and innocent, but Nate has his suspicions, because Tyson has his suspicions, and nothing of the scene will dissuade his resolve. He narrows his eyes at Gabe, who squirms under the look, confused and he's opening his mouth to ask, but Nate cuts him off.

He gets close, and their faces are mere inches apart, close enough that he feels Gabe's breath against his face. Gabe shuts his mouth with an audible click of teeth.

"Don't lead him on," Nate bites out the words, enunciating them very clearly, "Or I will end you." 

It gets the reaction he wants: Gabe's eyes grow wider, but he remains silent. There's no protesting or else Nate might be compelled to deck him. Good, Gabe knows when to keep his mouth shut. Job done -- he leaves the room without further explanation -- not that Gabe needs any because his meaning is crystal fucking clear. 

When Nate returns to the room he finds Tyson hiding under the covers -- his possessiveness suddenly breaks, feeling a surge of fondness instead taking its place. This is his best friend and Nate will be loyal to him until the day that he dies (and probably even longer than that; he'll haunt the shit out of whoever that deserves it). No one gets to hurt him, and that includes the objection of Tyson's affections for years now, the supposed Golden God that's named Gabriel Landeskog. Nate isn't afraid to hide his body and temporarily assume the captain duties -- all in the name of love and loyalty and just being a good Dogg. 

Though it doesn't help that Nate knows Gabe enough to know that he wouldn't hurt Tyson on purpose -- the two of them just need to figure their shit out. Good luck, though, with these two idiots.

Nate crawls onto the bed next to Tyson and rests a hand on what he thinks is Tyson's hip.

"I'm back," he says.

The blanket groans at him.

"Your lover boy is still alive and breathing."

"Alive and breathing," Tyson parrots the words, throwing back the blanket to stare at Nate like he's grown a second head. "You think that's comforting?" 

"Well, yeah. Isn't it?"

"No!" But Nate only looks at him expectantly, waiting, so Tyson's forced to continue, "He could still be in a ditch somewhere. Or tied up. And tied up! Did you put him in the trunk of your car?"

"My car's in Denver," he says, logical.

Tyson doesn't seem impressed with that -- he rolls his eyes and smacks Nate with a pillow. It turns into Nate trying to wrestle the pillow away from him because Tyson never fails to provoke his competitive side. The pillow gets discarded somewhere along the way and they get tangled in the covers, trying to get the upperhand on the each other -- and Nate is gentle, he's fucking gentle; he learned his lesson, okay -- and Nate wins, he always wins and he hugs Tyson back against his chest. It's really nothing but a shameless move to get more snuggles, but Nate is always more than happy to comply.

"Do you guys-- ah." 

Sid's standing in the doorway and he looks awkward. To be fair, awkward is his usual look. Especially when someone's in any sort of compromising position that might reference anything sexual in nature. That's when he's the most awkward. They're fully clothed and obviously not having sex. 

Not yet, though that could change very quickly if Sid continues to be fucking weird in the doorway -- they could put on a nice show for him.

"Oh my god," Tyson says in a low tone that only Nate can hear. "You said that out loud, Nate. Hot, but oh my god."

Nate laughs softly against Tyson's shoulder. His gaze cuts back to Sid and he watches Sid's face grow more and more red -- he looks like a caged animal about to bolt. He meets Sid's gaze and Nate only smirks at him. If he's looking for a lifeline it's not coming from Nate.

"We're going to play mini golf, do you guys want in?" Sid pushes through his embarrassment. Right, he actually wanted something from them, not just to stand there and see how uncomfortable Nate can make him.

"Golf! Oh, fuck no!" Tyson shouts and his body reacts along with it, limbs flailing. Tyson can be deceiving sometimes -- there's a lot of power tucked in his small frame and it can take Nate off guard just how strong he is. His grip tightens around Tyson to keep him from smacking or kicking Nate too hard.

Sid takes the distraction as an opportunity to flee, but Nate has presence of mind enough to notice. Not so fast.

He leans in and whispers in Tyson's ear, "I'll blow you in a public bathroom."

"We're in!" Tyson shouts.

"Great!" Sid shouts back from the other room, his voice sounding strangled.

"You just corrupted Sidney Crosby," Tyson mock whispers at him, looking pleased at this but also scandalized.

"Please," Nate replies, not keeping his voice down. "Geno corrupted him a long time ago. He's not as innocent as he pretends."

Now Tyson mostly looks scandalized and complains, "Gross!" while from the other room Sid curses, "Fuck you, MacKinnon!"

\--

There's shouting in the condo, but nothing seems particularly urgent. Plus, Gabe recognizes Tyson's voice and there's nothing upset in his tone, so Gabe doesn't bother to go investigate. He's stretched out on the bed and he's been replaying Nate's words in his head since he left earlier -- Gabe's being quiet, but Z's not talking much either and he's stretched out next to Gabe, a leg slung over the both of Gabe's.

This must be turning into a thing because now Nate's getting himself involved when he'd been fine with hanging back and letting Tyson and Gabe figure out things on their own time. Gabe doesn't particularly enjoy being pressured into anything, especially in this way, but it's probably fair: they did fool around the other night so it's probably about time to have a talk with Tyson. Which, trying to have a feelings talk with Tyson is about as pleasant as pulling teeth.

It's both a blessing and a curse that Tyson and Nate are so close -- a two for one package deal except less of the perks. Can't have one without the other. 

Gabe rubs at his face before he looks at Z.

"Serious now?" Z asks him. It pretty much goes without saying who he's referring to.

"Yeah, I-- Yeah. I think we're getting there. We fooled around a few days ago and there's feelings involved. Definitely feelings involved."

Z looks amused. "Definitely," he mimics. 

Gabe shoves at him, smiling. "Definitely feelings. Big feelings. Super ones."

"Cooties." Z pretends to brush off his shoulders. "Gross."

"I'll show you cooties, you brat," Gabe says.

He rolls over to pin Z down to the bed, wrists under his grip and knees bracketing Z's hips. There's some struggling from under Gabe, but Z isn't really trying all that hard. He's laughing as he tries to duck away from the sloppy kisses that Gabe's planting all over his face. It's the best way to give someone cooties, of course -- that's the only reason Gabe is doing it, yes. No, not to hear him giggle. Absurd.

"Ew, that my eye." There's some cursing in Russian, but Z doesn't look all that upset.

"Eye cooties," Gabe says in a mock-serious voice. 

There's something about the smile on Z's lips that punches Gabe right in the stomach, it nearly knocks all of the air out of him. He doesn't want to lose this, but he doesn't want to lose Tyson either. His eyes roam the man underneath him, trying to catalog this moment, and Gabe's mood grows serious.

"You're okay with me telling him about us?" Gabe pauses and reconsiders, "Actually, I guess I should ask if you're okay with me being with him?"

Z shrugs. "You and Tys. Sunshine and cats and--" He grunts, seeming at a loss for words. "Forever couple."

Gabe worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Yeah, but." 

And that's the thing that Gabe's stuck with right now -- there's always a but with these things for him. He wants more than he thinks he should have.

"Truth," Z says and smiles gently. "I see the eyes. Gross eyes."

"But I want to be selfish."

That causes Z to pause and he studies Gabe's face, looking for something. He seems to understand what Gabe means, though, because he says, "I not mind. If he okay with." 

Except Gabe gets the feeling that Z still expects Gabe to eventually run off into the night with Tyson and live a happily ever after without him. He isn't sure why he feels this -- Z isn't really giving off any certain kind of vibe, just. It's hanging there, unsaid. An elephant there in the room.

Gabe has zero intentions of running anywhere without Z.

"Nikita," Gabe murmurs.

It causes Z to suck in a small breath, eyes widening as their gazes meet. Gabe forces himself to take a second to concentrate on something other than the man below him, listening to see if anyone remains in the condo. He remembers the door slamming a bit ago and he thinks they're alone. He should check, he should-- but Gabe instead rolls his ass down against Z's lap.

The hands in his grip flex into fists and Gabe watches in fascination the stages of arousal that flit through Z's -- Nikita's -- expression as Gabe continues to rock down against him. His eyelids droop until he's watching Gabe through his lashes, his dark eyes blown with lust and Gabe swallows hard, wanting, needing. 

He lets go of Nikita's wrists. In seconds their positions are flipped and Gabe's on his back, Nikita's body pressing him down against the mattress. And he fucks Gabe like that, something simmering between them -- delicate but growing stronger, a mutual desire that's left unnamed, for now. Gabe murmurs Nikita's name over and over, his voice reverent, the name a prayer on his lips. 

\--

Gabe will blame Tyson for the idea if things go badly. As much as Tyson complains otherwise he really is a sap at heart. And despite joking about the long walks on the beach at night shit Gabe's pretty sure that the guy would still eat it up with a spoon, almost as fast as he would with his ice cream. So he decides to take a chance on it and he may or may not ever live it down -- it's okay, though, because Gabe would embarrass himself tenfold if there was a chance he'd get a Tyson smile at least once. So yeah, Gabe is corny for Tyson. No real surprise there.

He waits until the sun is dipping behind the horizon, the sky starting to darken before Gabe goes to find Tyson. He's with Nate, predictably, and Gabe hovers in the doorway, gripping the frame in his hands. Nate spots him first, his gaze intent and focused on him, and he doesn't say anything to get a message across: don't fuck this up the gaze reads, plain and clear. It might cow a lesser man. 

"Hey, Tys," Gabe greets him to get his attention. Tyson looks up and beams at him. "Can I borrow you for awhile? If your Dogg allows it?" 

The joke falls flat with Nate, who continues his passive though yet somehow expressive look, what the fuck, but Tyson at least seems amused with the joke.

"Down, Dogg," he says playfully and kisses Nate's cheek before he scrambles to go with Gabe.

It's a nice night, with a warm breeze that ruffles their hair just enough without being annoying, and they slip off their sandals to walk on the damp sand, the waves licking at their feet from time to time. There's very few people out right now and Gabe feels alone with Tyson, on their own private beach.

"I'm so sorry," Tyson says suddenly, with a soft huff of a laugh, something nervous and sweet. "I think he's mad that Z's here and you're with him a lot after we--" He gestures vaguely, his nervousness only growing, and Gabe wonders where all the bravado from the other night had gone. Was it the alcohol talking? Giving him confidence?

"After we blew each other with him in the room?" Gabe supplies, a bit reckless and loving this nervous side of Tyson. He wants to push and see Tyson squirm.

Right to the point, good ol' Gabriel. Tyson feels his face starting to warm just remembering that night -- he's very glad the light is fading.

He chuckles. "Yeah, that. Not uh, one of my brighter moments."

Gabe lifts his eyebrow. "The blowjobs or the voyeurism?" 

"No, no-- oh fuck, I mean, the blowjobs were awesome. The Nate elephant in the room, I meant."

Gabe offers his hand and Tyson immediately takes it. Their fingers lace together, easy and familiar like they've done this a million times, when in fact they have not. Not yet. 

"I think," Gabe starts hesitantly, but then seems to change track and he shakes his head. Then he tries something different, "I have to tell you something, Tys."

"Okay…" Tyson drawls, trying not to look skeptical. Those words never tend to lead anywhere good -- Tyson starts categorizing easy escape plans in case this conversation turns south. Maybe _I need to tuck Nate into bed_ or-- or-- _I left Sid in the backseat of the car_. Options are good, of course.

"I want to be honest with you." Gabe stops and gently tugs at Tyson so they face each other. "I want this to start off on the right hand--"

"Foot," Tyson automatically corrects him. The words slowly sink in more and he narrows his eyes. "Honest about what?"

"Z. Nikita. I'm sleeping with him."

"Oh," Tyson says, surprised, and his face goes through a myriad of expressions before he can close it down. He feels like he's floating, light and airy and the wind is going to sweep him away into the sunset, but that's probably more like he's lightheaded.

Of course, he should have known. Anytime he feels like he gains any momentum with Gabe something gets in the way. He tries to swallow back his pride and his bruised ego -- the news is definitely unexpected, but he thinks he schools his features correctly enough to look encouraging, positive. Maybe he needs one of those escape plans, after all. _I forgot to leave Sid a water dish in his crate_.

"Tys--" 

"That's cool, I didn't realize. You guys seemed closer lately. Good for you two." He forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. It might be more of a grimace now, so he talks to try and cover it up, "Is it serious? Is it-- something I should let you guys, you know. Explore your budding feelings." 

The power of talking is a great distraction for the most part, except when someone knows you well enough to know exactly what you're doing and that you're trying to hide. Gabe, of course, is one of those people for Tyson. He knows Tyson talks more when he's nervous or he's upset. And he knows that Tyson will do anything that he can to get out of talking about his feelings. Tyson is absolutely transparent sometimes when it comes to Gabe. At least Tyson isn't exactly an emotionally constipated freak like Sid is; Tyson can maneuver around feelings when he has to, but it's definitely never been a highlight of his life. 

Fight or flight-- Tyson adores flight, okay.

Gabe snorts at him. His other hand finds Tyson's and he squeezes them both, all their fingers laced together. His grip remains firm, like he's not going to let Tyson run away from this again -- another example of Gabe knowing him way too well -- and Tyson relaxes a fraction. 

"It's serious to me," Gabe admits. "I'm not entirely sure about him, but I straight-up told him that I wanted you both and he said he didn't mind. But knowing Z like I do, like you do too, we both know that if he didn't want something he wouldn't stick around."

Tyson slowly nods, searching Gabe's face.

"You don't have to back off, if you don't want," he adds, softly.

Gabe drops one of Tyson's hands to cup the back of his neck and draw him in close. His thumb rubs over the short hairs back there. Tyson's eyes flutter, briefly, before closing altogether when their lips meet for a gentle kiss. It's so sweet that it's giving Tyson cavities, but he's eating up the attention all the same -- Tyson is, and always will be, a shameless attention whore. Especially for Gabe.

When the kiss breaks, Tyson asks, "You're sure? I know I don't really compare to all the junk he's probably packing. I mean, he's ripped. I'm not ripped. My legs days are coming along--"

Gabe kisses him again to shut him up and that's fair. Tyson's only talking nonsense at this point because they're having a moment and he's really not good at having moments. The kiss is slow and sweet and it makes Tyson dizzy.

"I always want you," Gabe says firmly against his mouth. "All of you."

"Oh," Tyson says dumbly.

Gabe's hand slides from Tyson's neck and down his back, pausing to rest at the small of his back, a light and steadying pressure. His fingers dip right below the waistband and Tyson shivers. Yet he feels flushed and eager, already so eager, and Tyson presses up against the solid strength of Gabe's body.

"Gabe," he whispers against his mouth. 

"We should go back," Gabe says. Except he's kissing along Tyson's jaw, lips scraping the light stubble, kissing and tasting every inch like he can't get enough of him right now. It's intoxicating; Tyson's intoxicated from Gabe and he's so close to losing every ounce of his willpower and say fuck it, let them fuck on the beach.

Except-- sand. Ugh.

"We need to go," Tyson says urgently. There's no way he's dealing with sand everywhere. No fucking way. "Now. Gabe, condo. Now."

Tyson has to physically shove Gabe away from and the look that Gabe gives him, oh holy fuck. He's going to die and go to heaven, right now. But Tyson wants this so badly that he starts pushing Gabe in the direction of the hotel. Eventually Gabe falls in step next to him, keeping his hands mostly to himself. He gets a little handsy on the elevator ride up to their floor and gives Tyson's ass a squeeze that Tyson absolutely does not whimper about.

There isn't anyone in the condo when they enter and even if there was Tyson doesn't think he'd care. The whole league could be crammed in the living room and Tyson would still lock himself in the bedroom with Gabe and fuck. He's at that point -- nothing is going to get between them right now. Tyson drags Gabe to the bedroom and slams the door behind them, pressing Gabe up against him, his own body up against Gabe's. He manages to lock the door as they kiss roughly.

"I don't want to wait for you anymore," Gabe says and Tyson wants to whine that he can't just say that kind of thing to him and expect Tyson to remain coherent. But then Gabe kisses him, so dirty and filthy that Tyson just, melts. Everything is Gabe, Gabe, Gabe. His hands fist the front of Gabe's shirt and he hangs on for the ride.

Somehow they get to the bed and Tyson's regaining some brain function before he realizes Gabe's pulling off his shirt. They had been in the dark last time so Tyson hadn't been able to enjoy the view -- not that Tyson hasn't seen Gabe naked before, he has, but he could never sit back and enjoy it. 

"It's so unfair how hot you are," Tyson says. "My Swedish stallion." 

Gabe laughs at him, swats at Tyson's leg. "You're so good for my ego. C'mon, get your clothes off. I want to see you too."

Tyson works on losing his shirt, but his fingers feel big and clumsy, and it's not until Gabe's gentle hands are on his that he realizes it's nerves. He's goddamn nervous suddenly.

"And you got me wrapped around your finger, four," Gabe says gently and gives him another kiss.

Gabe helps him out of his shorts before gently pressing his body weight down against Tyson, pressing him into the bed. The skin on skin contact feels delicious and he feels the pressure of Gabe's cock against his hip, hot and heavy. Tyson's been hard for ages now and he lifts his hips, groaning at the slide of his cock against Gabe's stomach.

Shifting, Gabe lifts his weight enough so he can line their cocks up and get a fist around them. 

"Oh fuck," Tyson moans out, tipping his head back against the pillow. "Oh my fucking god, Gabriel."

They rut against each other, into Gabe's fist, and Tyson wants more -- he wants so much more, he wants Gabe inside him and filling him up, he wants to be fucked until he's stupid and knows nothing except Gabe -- but they're both too desperate to get any further than this. And it's not going to last long like this, not with the sounds that Gabe makes. He's loud and not shy with saying how he's feeling and what he's feeling. It shoots straight through Tyson like electricity and it's pooling in his lower stomach, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. 

"I can't wait until I'm inside you," Gabe gasps out. "Or you're inside me. I bet your cock feels so good. I bet you'd fill me up, stretch me out so good. You have such a pretty cock, Tys."

Gabe's propped over him on an elbow, balancing somewhat precariously so it's easy for Tyson to lean in and bite hard on Gabe's bicep to muffle his shout when he comes between them. Gabe hisses and his entire body jerks and it's only a few more strokes before he's adding to the mess of come between them. Then he drops heavily on top of Tyson and he weighs a ton but Tyson doesn't want to push him away. Even if the come is disgusting between them. But he's too fucked out to give much of a shit right now.

"I had no idea you had such a porn mouth in bed," he says, sounding tired but very pleased.

Gabe presses a kiss to his collarbone. "You're just as bad."

"Am not."

"Just because you bit me," Gabe says and starts to giggle. "You bit me!"

Soon they're both laughing hard enough to have tears in their eyes for no real good reason. Gabe shows Tyson the teeth marks he made and flexes a few times to emphasize the point, which Tyson is more than okay with that show.

"Heathen," Tyson says. "You can't be mad at me. I have a pretty cock, you said so yourself."

Gabe smirks at him, carefully lifting himself away from Tyson. "You do," he says and gently pats Tyson's cock. Tyson whines and smacks his hand away.

"No! Not yet! Lil' Tys is not ready."

Gabe narrows his eyes at him. "That's what we call Josty, you know."

Tyson just smirks at him now. "Go get a towel, damn it. I feel disgusting."

"Sooo..." Tyson drawls and inches closer to Gabe again, now that he's less sweaty and less inclined to stick against Gabe's body in a weird unsexy way. An arm easily loops around Tyson. "You were honest with me earlier." A fact.

"I was honest with you," Gabe agrees. "I will never lie to you."

"Sap," Tyson snarks.

Gabe flicks him on the forehead. "Why?"

"I want to be honest with you too." And Gabe's giving him this soft, warm and open look that makes Tyson both want to punch him and curl up in this look forever. It steadies him so he continues, "I'm sleeping with Nate."

"You are not," Gabe replies instantly, but then he looks less than sure. "Right?"

But Tyson doesn't respond. He patiently watches Gabe, waiting for him to believe it. 

"Tyson?" Gabe's eyes are wide. "You are not!" But slowly, slowly it seems to sink in and Gabe takes a moment to actually think. To consider the way that Tyson and Nate act together, how close they are, and okay, maybe it seems plausible. 

Tyson finally takes pity on him, "I really am. I swear to the Canadian God of hockey and maple syrup."

Gabe bites his lip, looking more and more pleased with this information. "Threesome?" He asks, hopeful. 

Tyson smirks. "Maybe. If you're good. Though--" He goes a little off topic, which is usually fairly normal for Tyson, really. "Did you bring me out to the beach to tell me about Z so I wouldn't make a scene?"

"What? There wasn't anyone around."

Tyson pinches the bridge of his nose, feigning exasperation. Stupid Swedes and their inability to understand references. "It's a pop culture reference where people bring their partners out in public to break up with them so they won't make a scene."

He slowly nods. "Oh. Yes, I didn't want you to make a scene. Not really. I just wanted to do something nice for you. Plus, I wasn't breaking up with you. Very not breaking up."

Tyson stares at him. Which is all well and grand, and normally Tyson would be thrilled with this information (he is, really, but) there's something else that's much more pressing right now.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims in a delighted glee and cackles. "That was a jizz stain on your couch!"

And Gabe, yeah. Gabe fucking flushes and tackles him and that ends their talking for the evening.

\--

It doesn't really answer the questions in his head. Are they dating? Are they just fooling around? Tyson isn't so sure -- maybe he's just overthinking things, that's usually the case with him. So there's a lot of questions circling around up there and a majority of them have to do with Gabe and the stupid Swede's face and his amazingly (but stupidly) toned arms and his perfect (but stupid) smile. Mostly about what their status is now, some about when they can fuck again, and a little about what their future is going to hold.

Plus, there's the whole subject he ain't touching with a twenty foot pole regarding his professional career future. Yuck, not touching that.

He's lost in thought when he finds Nate later that day and the look on his face must ring warning bells.

Nate says, "I'll kill him." He gets to his feet. Tyson quickly tackles him down to the couch and uses his body weight to pin Nate down. Not that he doesn't believe Nate could shove him off if he really wants to, but it seems like he's going to give him the benefit of a doubt for now. Though it's a short window and Tyson must act fast. 

"No," he whines. "It's cool, we're good, I swear."

Nate looks skeptical, but at least he isn't in attack mode any longer. That buys Tyson more time. 

"I was thinking," he continues and makes himself more comfortable. Nate's hand rests on his hip. "He said he's sleeping with Z."

"You knew this."

"I guessed," Tyson corrects him. "But I didn't really know for sure and I sure as hell didn't believe it. Z does not come across as the I like dick type, yanno?"

Nate had to admit that Tyson had a point there.

"Does that crap even work? Honestly. I never heard about those relationships working out." 

"How many polyamorous relationships do you know, Tyson?"

"Uh, zero," he admits. 

"You know how Gabe is. He's never been the settle down type and I suspect that's why you always chickened out when he made a move on you." Ugh, Nate and knowing him so fucking well-- "But I do know that Gabe is crazy for you so I do think it's worth a shot, however you work it out. You just need to talk to him and be open about it. Find out what he wants and what he's looking for."

The last thing that Tyson wants to do is talk, but that's nothing new. He doesn't know how to even bring a conversation like this up to Gabe -- he'd rather take his chances on the ice against fucking Marchand-- okay, no, that's a lie, he would not. Still, this is high up on his to not do list. 

"It can't work," Tyson says, stubborn. "I don't know if I can share him."

Nate shrugs at him, unconcerned, like he knows that Tyson is just being dramatic because he can. "Well, think about it, Tys. Gabe has Z. You have me. There isn't any difference, I don't think."

Tyson stares at him, refusing to comprehend the logic of this. "What? You're my best friend, not--"

"I blew you in a public bathroom," Nate says.

Tyson flushes -- Nate wins this round.


	4. Chapter 4

So, they have plans to visit EJ in California at some point in the very near future. It had been up in the air, _just gimme a call, you idiot_ EJ had said (fondly, probably, because how could he not be when it came to Gabe?). There isn't any rush, though there's also no reason not to visit sooner than later. Everyone misses EJ, who at this point has became a package deal with Girard, and by default everyone now misses Sam too. There is no EJ without Sam -- sweet, but very gag-worthy at times. Not that Gabe has any room to talk, he supposes. _Your eyes do the stupid heart thing when Big Tys is around_ , EJ had told him on many occasions, as well as _keep that shit to yourself or I'm fining you both_.

(EJ loves him. He really really loves him.)

But Gabe decides to bump up the visit to very soon and definitely not later because Nate's driving him nuts. At this point he's pretty sure that the guy is doing it on purpose, less because of an alternative radical coping method or however Tyson had put it. Now Nate's merely being an asshole -- he's bored, yes, but they all are and Gabe can only babysit so much before he has to throw people at someone else.

EJ is the lucky next victim.

_At some point_ becomes a lot sooner when Nate keeps offering to organize more drawers in Gabe's house, especially drawers in his bedroom, which, Tyson still keeps giving them looks because he doesn't understand the deal with that. Gabe really doesn't want him to understand, at least not while Nate is around.

"I can organize your closet. Or your dresser."

"No," Gabe says firmly. His tone captures Tyson's attention, who hasn't really been paying them any mind up until this point because he's been busy unwrapping a few video games he's gotten (and has threatened to make both Nate and Gabe play) and he furrows his eyebrows at them. 

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Nate gives him a doubtful look. "I'm only listening because I don't want to be rude and go through your private things."

"You don't-- fucking, yeah right," Gabe grumbles, exasperated. "Not want to go through my private things my ass. That train has sailed a long time ago."

Nate smirks at him. Tyson stares at him like he has a second head.

Nate says, "Your English is atrocious sometimes. Trains don't sail."

"Your English is atrocious," Gabe mocks and rolls his eyes. "My trains fucking sail, fuck off."

"Okaaaaay," Tyson cuts in. "I don't know what the fuck you guys are talking about, but-- fuck, I can't get this wrapper off. I need scissors." So he jumps up and disappears into the kitchen.

It doesn't occur to Gabe, until it's too late, where the scissors are located. Because from the kitchen, he hears Tyson squawk, "Gabriel, _what the fuck_?" Fuck. His train is sailing fucking fast right now. 

"What?" He shouts back. "I was thinking I wanted ice cream for dinner! Are you in?"

Tyson appears around the corner so fast that Gabe cringes because scissors, and he's pointing them accusingly at Gabe. At least he's not close enough to accidentally stab him. "What the fuck," he repeats, "Also yes, I'm definitely in, you're just changing the subject, you fucking-- oh my god. We're talking about this later." Then it occurs to Tyson what exactly they'd have to be talking about. "Wait, no we're not!" And he promptly disappears back into the kitchen.

Nate's laughing at him, at them, at the whole stupid situation. A situation that Gabe could have handled just fine if Nate wasn't here and being in the way and being a whole stupid mood killer. 

"Seriously, why the fuck are there sex toys in your junk drawer?!" Tyson shouts again, sounding more and more hysterical. Also awkward, horrified and maybe even part awe? And hopefully turned on, because Gabe absolutely has plans to use those on Tyson one day, bent over the counter and spread for him. But the Dogg is killing the mood with his stupid presence in general, and he's laughing so hard now that he's red in the face, crying, and collapsed on the floor like the drama queen that he is.

Gabe smiles tightly, and waits.

"At least they're organized," Nate wheezes and Gabe launches himself at him.

Maybe Nate is Tyson's best friend of all freaking forever and shit, together until they die, and he can't hide the body in a ditch somewhere, but he's pretty sure he can still beat the guy up. The wrath of Tyson only lasts so long, especially if you call him stupid petnames and feed him plenty of ice cream and sweets. Gabe can work with that, he can. Plus, beating him up doesn't affect the team either, so it's a win-win situation.

He really should have booked the plane ticket for tonight. Tomorrow is too far away.

They climb out of the rental car -- and Zoey bounds out, shooting up the driveway to join the pack of EJ's dogs. Tyson sprints up the driveway shouting, "Horse boy!" and the rest of the sane adults settle on walking (aka Gabe, Nikita, and Nate, though calling Nate sane or an adult is a stretch at this point, but whatever). It's only EJ and Sam right now, and apparently Josty and JT are coming up in a few days inbetween their busy summer schedule of being fucking idiots, the usual.

"You guys made it safe and sound," EJ says, like he's disappointed.

Sam smacks his arm. "We're very glad you guys are here," he says in his heavily accented English, the proper host, the good boy, the only one that can keep EJ in line.

"Oh, I guess," EJ drawls and slings an arm around Tyson's neck, throwing Gabe a wink. "I'll go easy on your boy, Cap." Then he wrangles Tyson inside, Nikita and the dogs on their heels. 

"How are you guys doing?" Gabe asks Sam as they rest of them walk inside together. He likes Sam -- Sam's nice and doesn't try to test Gabe's limit of sanity. "Is he behaving himself?" He pauses and then adds, "Are you behaving yourself?"

That makes Sam chuckle. "He is. I am! We're pretty good."

Somehow, already, EJ has wrestled Tyson to the floor on the living room rug and has him in a headlock. The dogs are swarming them, jumping and barking and attempting to climb on them. It's a literal puppy pile. Sam's eyes go fond as he watches and Gabe has to force himself not to do the same because Tyson's flushed and laughing and these carefree moments have been limited the more the days tick through the summer.

It's a good idea to be here, and not just so Gabe can pawn Nate off to someone else.

"Be careful, mon chum!" Sam calls out. "Remember your shoulder."

"It's too early for all this sappy shit," Nate complains and walks off. 

"It's three in the afternoon," Gabe snipes to his back before he turns his attention back to Sam. "Drama queen," he says and Sam smiles. 

"I heard you're--"

"Nope," Gabe cuts him off firmly, his tone booking no argument. Sam doesn't argue, but he does smile brightly at Gabe because he knows. Because of course EJ told him how much of a drama queen Gabe used to be. He thinks he's at least gotten better about it, but he isn't going to ask EJ to clarify that, no way.

"Anyway," Sam says and Gabe listens, wary, "I think he's feeling better, the surgery help his shoulder, but he is not the best patient." He gestures at the puppy pile, and while EJ is doing most of the rough housing with his right arm he still really shouldn't be wrestling this soon either way. But Gabe knows from past experiences that EJ is absolutely a godawful patient (he suspects he might be better with Sam than he ever was with Gabe). "He say he's getting old and his body not work the way it used to."

"We're all getting old, G." He pauses before he rolls his eyes. "Except you. You're still a child."

"I'm twenty-one," Sam protests, with the baby face and the curls and looking barely past eighteen.

"I'm going on twenty-seven," Gabe protests back. "EJ is old enough to be your father."

Sam giggles at him. "Is not. He's perfect amount of years. Seasoned and cooked just right."

"Oh my god, don't compare EJ to a fucking steak."

"But he's delicious!" Sam calls out after him, as Gabe walks away to find something else to get into because everyone is ridiculous. 

He finds himself in the kitchen and admiring the hospitality of EJ and Sam (probably mostly Sam). There's a whole spread of various types of delivered pizza, plus chips, dips, vegetable and some sweets that Tyson will probably eat about half, possibly more if no one monitors him close enough. And there's plenty of booze -- there's always plenty of booze when EJ's in charge.

"I'm in heaven," Tyson says, popping up suddenly next to him. He's still flushed and out of breath from wrestling, and he leans into Gabe's side, smiling up at him.

"Not bad, huh?" Gabe asks, his gaze fond. 

"Do you think he has juice?"

"Probably. He knows you like those fruity gross things."

Tyson leans up and bites his earlobe, gently tugging on it. "You're fruity," he then murmurs into Gabe's ear, supposedly as an insult but it gets Gabe's blood pumping.

They share a look and Gabe wants to do naughty things to him -- that isn't new, he's always wanted to strip Tyson and bend him over various flat surfaces in the time that he's known him, but what's new is that he's allowed. And fuck, Gabe's taking advantage of that, even if it means he's fucking Tyson in EJ's spare bedroom. If they're caught they'll never hear the end of it. Worth it, Gabe thinks, as he eyes the new flush that spreads over Tyson's cheeks and down his neck, splotchy and ridiculous but Gabe's so into him. 

He sneaks Tyson upstairs to one of EJ's spare bedrooms and locks the door behind them.

His mouth is on Tyson's instantly and they kiss until they're dizzy, until their lips are red and kiss-swollen, and Tyson's panting against his mouth and Gabe wants more more more. His hands slip underneath Tyson's shirt to slide over warm skin, his fingers mapping out the shape of him, all muscle and strength in his compact form. 

Gabe guides him to the bed but at the last second Tyson tugs him away. It takes him a minute to understand -- Gabe's a bit slow and drunk off Tyson, all of his thoughts are devoted to stripping the guy and hearing his noises of desperation -- so it dawns on him when he sees the large window that looks out over the view. 

"Fuck, really?" Gabe asks, his throat dry. 

Tyson smiles wide, a touch shy. "Fuck me here," he murmurs. 

So Gabe does -- he fucks Tyson with his front pressed up against the glass, knowing that anyone could see them (though unlikely because EJ's house looms high above everything, but that doesn't take anything away from the thrill), and he takes his time taking Tyson apart and putting him back together again. Every noise that he makes is a punch to Gabe's gut and soon he's desperately chasing his own release, gripping Tyson's hands tight where he has them pinned above their heads.

"Gabe," Tyson moans, the name a prayer on his lips.

EJ gives them a dirty look when they make their appearance an hour or so later. "You're each fined a million dollars and I'm burning those sheets."

"We didn't use the bed," Tyson pipes up, grinning.

"Twenty million dollars," EJ almost snarls before he stalks off. 

Fuck. Worth it.

At some point Gabe ends up on the couch with Tyson on his lap, who's yelling at the other Tyson across the room about something, their voices carrying easily across the open space. God forbid someone gets up and joins the other so they can talk like normal humans.

Josty and JT end up coming earlier than expected, showing up that evening with a great fanfare. As always, because nothing with Josty is ever lowkey -- though Josty has argued he can totally be lowkey and JT begrudgingly agreeing with him (because JT ever acknowledging that Josty is right is always very painful), but Gabe will believe when he sees it. The guy is always vibrating with energy and it's not bad, of course not, but it can be exhausting. Especially when Gabe's already dealing with another energetic Tyson. Two energetic Tysons? God help him; God help the _world_.

It's nice, comfortable and easy-going. Gabe feels pretty close to normal again and he observes the lack of tension along Tyson's shoulders. They all needed a distraction from hockey, and from themselves as well.

"Heathen," Tyson bitches and turns his attention back to Gabe, ignoring the other Tyson. "I swear, Junior is a menace."

Gabe gives him a look. "See, now I don't know if you're talking about Josty or your dick."

Tyson sticks out his tongue at him. "Shut up, Landes _nerd_."

\--

Gabe needs to talk to EJ about something, except there's one big problem (or small problem, depending on the way you look at it): EJ and Sam are leaning in with their heads close together and they're speaking in French. The language they usually speak when they don't want anyone to eavesdrop, which fair enough. EJ seems very much butchering the language, with his hesitant starts and stops, but they seem to at least be stringing a conversation together, Sam picking up the laspes that EJ has. 

It begs the question: when the hell did EJ learn French, anyway? The why aspect is already answered: it's 5'10, dark hair, dark eyes, and very very French and adorable. EJ is whipped. But Gabe doesn't really blame him -- Gabe has eyes, he can see that Sam is an absolute full package.

It's suspicious, though, because they keep glancing in his direction while they talk. Not being subtle whatsoever, and Gabe decides to interrupt them anyway.

"What'd I do this time?" Gabe asks.

"You were born," EJ shoots back. "Go away, the adults are having a talk."

"The--" Gabe snorts. "I believe G's an adult, but definitely not you."

"Thank you, Landy," Sam beams.

"You are welcome, G."

"Jesus Christ," EJ says witheringly, to the ceiling. "Go away, Gabe." 

As Gabe's walking away he hears, "Why does he think you're the adult here? Jesus." Sam giggles and replies something in French.

So Gabe goes away for awhile, but never too far, and he finally corners EJ when he's alone. It takes nearly all evening, Gabe hovering like a vulture, ready to swoop in and steal EJ when he's alone and vulnerable and ripe for the taking-- okay, not really -- EJ is far from vulnerable, that's for sure. When Gabe closes in EJ gives him a weary look, like Gabe being here right now is so difficult and he's so put out by the company. That's usually EJ's reaction when he knows Gabe wants something, mister old reliable fucking gramps, so Gabe ignores him.

"Now do you want to talk to me?" Gabe demands with a touch of annoyance.

"You have my full attention," EJ says, all magnanimous and being the asshole, no surprise.

"Asshole," Gabe grunts but he does take a seat next to him, leaning back in the chair. 

EJ's attention never leaves the view from his spot on the deck, so Gabe takes a moment to study him. He still looks tired, but not nearly as tired as when the season had finished, the lines that crease from EJ's eyes aren't as deep.

"Whatcha want, Swedey boy?" EJ finally asks, when it's obvious that Gabe isn't going to talk without being prompted.

"How are you?" Gabe asks instead.

EJ huffs at him, but he responds, "I'm fine. My shoulder is healing nicely they say. I might miss some of training camp, but I'll be there, Cap."

Gabe isn't really thinking that far ahead yet so he changes the subject, "How are you and G?"

"What is this? Grill your gracious host with a million questions night? Gabe, what do you want?" Gabe tries not to sulk at that, because he does want to know, he wants to hear things from EJ's side, and EJ must read it on his face. He's always been good at reading into what Gabe needs, somehow. He lightly sighs and adds, "Sammy and I are good. We're great. I know you can see that, man. Even though I don't know why the hell you think he's the adult. Neither of us are."

"I like to pump his tires," Gabe admits with a shrug. "He's cute when he preens."

EJ considers that and nods. "True," he agrees. "He's an adorable little fucker."

They're quiet for a bit and it's nice, and comfortable, and Gabe's tempted to spend the rest of the summer out here. He knows EJ would let him, he'd let all of them, despite grumbling about it. He wants his boys around as much as Gabe does. Summers always get a little bit lonely without the team hanging around.

Gabe finally asks what's on his mind, "Is it too much to ask Tys to come to Sweden with me?" His voice is pitched low so no one will overhear them.

EJ snorts at him. "No. You guys have been married without the sex for years," he says, as a matter of a factly. 

Gabe narrows his eyes at him and looks away, rolling his eyes. "What about Nikita?"

EJ pauses, cocks his head, searching. "Nik-- _Nikita_?" He sputters. It's usually a cold day in hell when Gabe takes EJ off guard and he revels in it, smirking. "You mean Z? Our big Z? The Russian that can take someone's head clean off with a swipe of his meaty paw?"

Gabe huffs at him, impatient. "Yes, that one," he says.

"What the fuck, Gabe? Are you guys--" He can't finish the sentence because someone walks by, but the look that EJ gives it makes it clear enough.

"Yes."

"The boom chicka?"

"Yes, the boom chicka," Gabe repeats, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Somehow EJ is his senior -- Gabe doesn't know how he managed to make it there. "Stop staring at him," Gabe hisses because EJ is staring and Nikita is going to notice and he does not want this to be a thing.

EJ reluctantly looks back at Gabe. "He has the gay sex with you? Really?"

"Oh my god," Gabe claps a hand over his face. "It's called sex. Not the gay sex. Remind me why I talk to you? Why we're friends at all?"

EJ shrugs, unconcerned. "Hey, I have the gay sex with Sam. We have something in common. Good enough for me."

"That's the only thing we have in common? Christ, Erik." Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose, and then pauses. "Wait, you guys are actually fucking now?"

EJ beams at him, shark-like. "Blowjobs, handjobs before the season was over. We came out here and barely made it in the door."

Gabe nods, appreciative. "Nice," he says and holds out his fist. EJ bumps it with his own. "I appreciate G keeping your old man ass off my back."

"You like my ass," EJ snarks back. 

"Yes. But you didn't answer my question."

EJ grunts at him. "I didn't want to answer your stupid question. Stop being needy."

Gabe pokes at EJ's arm, over and over. EJ half-heartedly smacks back at him before sighing expansively. "I didn't even know the dude liked dick five minutes ago. How am I supposed to answer that? You know him better than I do." But Gabe is frowning at him, like he's waiting for EJ to stop being a dick and fuck. He huffs. "Look, maybe? Maybe not? He came out here with you guys. He came to the beach. Sometimes nothing is too soon if you mean it."

Maybe Gabe had been looking for a more definitive answer, but he supposes this is the best that EJ could give him. Gabe does know Nikita better than him.

"You've known him for years now," EJ also says, "If he's comfortable enough to fuck you then he's probably comfortable enough to do anything with you. You know how sexually fucked up Russians are. Especially the gay ones. All--" 

"-- _Erik_ ," Gabe cuts him off. "Shut the fuck up."

EJ holds up both his middle fingers then yells out, "Sam, you owe me a hundred bucks!"

"Fils de pute!" Sam yells back, his eyes going wide.

Gabe storms off.

"He seriously likes dick?" EJ asks him again, later. Gabe's never going to hear the end of this; he should have never confided in EJ -- at least not while he's staying at his house and EJ can hound him relentlessly about the topic. And when Gabe doesn't answer, EJ keeps pushing, "You guys have really fucked?"

Gabe gives him a small look, his face pinched. "Shut up."

EJ covers his chest with his hands, over his heart. "I'm having a hard time picturing this. I just want to be a good best friend and understand your new Russian kink."

"Shut the fuck up," Gabe repeats. 

"You're boring." EJ gives Gabe's head a gentle shove before he walks off. 

He finds Sam in the kitchen and he's crafting some sort of cocktail. Or maybe it's a wine cooler. Or Sam is mixing whatever he sees fit and looking for a new favorite drink. Probably the latter, EJ suspects. The drink is definitely something fruity, fun, and sweet, something very Sam-like.

"Hey-oh!" Sam greets when he sees him and he spills some juice over the side of the glass. He isn't as coordinated as he usually is so EJ knows he's had a few drinks already. Drunk Sam is fun. Any Sam is fun, to be fair. "Mon chum, there you are. Do you want a drink?"

"I'll take another ale if we have it."

Sam hums as he checks the cooler and pulls out a bottle for EJ, handing it to him. Except he doesn't let go of it when EJ tries to take it, so EJ just pulls him in closer. "Mon chum," Sam repeats and kisses him. He tastes fruity and sweet.

"Now that's service. Thank you, mon chum," EJ says when Sam pulls back. "Next time you bring me a beer you should give me a blowjob."

"If you are good," Sam replies, amused.

"I'm always good, you know this." EJ kisses the top of his head before letting Sam get back to his creation. "Are you sure you're old enough to drink?"

"I've been legal in Canada for three years," Sam reminds him, patiently, because he's heard this joke before. A few times.

"Oh," EJ says, nodding. "I suppose you're right."

Sam gently smacks EJ's stomach, smiling. EJ's arm slides around his shoulders and he gives him a small squeeze. It's light and easy and everything EJ's ever wanted in another person.

"Cheers," they say and tap their drinks together with a soft clink.

"It's nice to have company," Sam says.

"I suppose. These were the best you could come up with in such short notice?" Sam's elbow gently digs into his side and EJ sighs at him. "You are such a brat. Always beating me up. It's so unbecoming of you."

"Pow pow," Sam says and mimics throwing punches. He ends up spilling some of his drink over his hand, drops pattering to the floor. "Oops," he giggles, leaning against EJ more as he licks his hand clean. 

And so the whole reason he had sought out Sam in the first place, it goes straight out the window, just like that. Because Sam always has this affect on him -- the ability to make EJ drop everything he's doing and get lost in him, in whatever he's doing no matter how big or how small. His eyes focus on Sam's hand, on his mouth and his lips, red like he's been biting at them. Which, Sam biting at his lips is a real weakness for EJ.

Sam notices, either EJ's look or the sudden change in the vibe they're sharing, because he leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him. His aim is slightly off so EJ angles his head down to slot their mouths together better, parting his lips to Sam's demanding tongue. Sam kisses him insistenty, eagerly -- he tastes like berries now, sweet and sugary. 

EJ's hands cup Sam's biceps, guiding his body closer, and Sam takes the hint, pressing up against him.

"Sammy," he murmurs against his mouth.

"Erik."

They stumble to the bedroom, hands everywhere, unable to let the other go for even a second.

Sam fucks like he kisses: demanding and pushy, pushing EJ where he wants him and how he wants him. Like he always knows exactly what he wants and that he's confident EJ will give it to him. He takes but he gives - a generous lover, a phrase EJ would never be caught dead saying, yet it's the truth. Sam in bed is an experience. 

EJ remembers, suddenly, when Sam has him spread out on the bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes catch the new expanse of skin when Sam pulls off his shirt, his hands then going to undo his shorts. It's not that important right now, EJ decides. Later, he'll tell him about Gabe and Z -- later, when EJ can hound him for his side of the bet, because Sam lost and EJ won (it had been a shot in the dark, really) and he can cackle about it until the cows come home. Right now he has more important things to worry about, because Sam is taking forever with those shorts--

"The zipper is stuck," Sam whines.

EJ laughs, fond and amused, and he helps him with his own alcohol-clumsy hands. "Cock block," he says.

"I win," Sam says fiercely and bites the senstive skin at EJ's hip.


End file.
